The Sarcastic Healing Spectrum

Why most of my characters share the trait

May 14, 2025

If you’re new to The Rebel MFA Way, welcome! This is an essay in my ongoing “Writing Fiction to Heal in Real Time” series where I deep-dive into my writing fiction to heal method as field work and a case study. To begin, I will be working through my story, The Archive, which you can find more information on here.

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When I developed Ari for The Archive, I knew she would use sarcasm as her shield. Because it's the language of survivors—a way to speak truth while keeping yourself safe. In a world that's falling apart, sometimes a bitter quip is the only thing standing between you and the void. Sarcasm becomes more than just wit; it's a spectrum of healing mechanisms as diverse as the trauma it processes.

But it's more than that. In Ari's world, sarcasm becomes a survival skill as essential as finding clean water or safe shelter. It's a way to process overwhelming information while staying functional, to maintain mental sharpness when everything else is dulled by trauma. When she writes “At least the apocalypse cured my social anxiety—hard to worry about small talk when everyone's dead,” she's not just being funny. She's processing brutal reality while staying sharp enough to deal with it.

Through examining both fictional characters and real-life examples, we can map how different forms of sarcasm align with different phases of emotional recovery. The cynical bark of defensive sarcasm might signal the raw early stages of processing trauma, while playful, observational wit often emerges as healing progresses.

Consider Ari, documenting the end of everything with a pen and a sharp tongue. Her entries oscillate between raw pain and biting humor—“Guess the apocalypse doesn't take mental health days” becomes both shield and statement. Her gallows humor isn't just deflection—it's how she maintains control of her narrative even as the world strips everything else away.

This transformation of sarcasm-as-healing is in nearly every book of mine, I realized.

In my novel, Lost in NYC, we see how lighthearted, self-deprecating quips (“I'm no Carrie Bradshaw”) can help process disappointment and maintain perspective.

Meanwhile, Izzy in Until They Burn weaponizes her sarcasm against authority figures (“Oh sure, I'll just politely ask the next robber to wait around for backup.”), transforming victimhood into defiance through bitter wit.

And Riley from Project Riley uses her sarcasm to avoid the truth of her fate (“I’ve read The Fault in Our Stars. As evidenced by John Green, groups are only good for one thing — meeting other hot sick people. And being in the literal heart of Jesus. No, thanks.”)

But with Ari, the stakes are different. Her sarcasm isn't just about personal healing—it's about maintaining humanity itself. When she writes in her journal, she's not just processing her own trauma. She's creating a blueprint for others who might find her words, showing them how to hold onto their humanity through humor. Her sardonic observations become a way of saying “I was here, I remained human, you can too.”

The Evolution of Sarcasm

In The Archive, we watch Ari's sarcasm evolve from purely defensive (“Great plan, universe. Really stellar work here.”) to something more nuanced—a tool for processing grief, fear, and even hope. When she writes about Finn, her dead husband, the sarcasm softens: “Still talking to you. Still crazy. Still don't care.” It's in these moments we see how sarcasm can bridge the gap between what we can bear to say and what we need to express.

This evolution mirrors what I've observed about survival itself—it's not the strongest who make it, but the most adaptable. Ari's sarcasm adapts with her circumstances. Sometimes it's armor against unbearable truth. Sometimes it's a flare sent up into the darkness, hoping someone else will recognize the signal and respond with their own dark humor. And sometimes, it's a way to remind herself that if she can still find something absurd to laugh about, she hasn't lost everything yet.

Yet not all sarcasm serves the healing process equally. Like any coping mechanism, it can become a crutch, a way to avoid rather than process emotions. The key lies in understanding where on the spectrum our sarcastic responses fall—are they helping us process and connect, or are they keeping us stuck in patterns of avoidance?

The difference matters. Sarcasm that helps us name our pain, that creates connection through shared dark humor, that lets us speak truth while maintaining boundaries, this serves healing. But sarcasm that builds walls, that keeps others at a distance, that prevents us from facing what hurts, this can keep wounds fresh and raw.

I often wonder if mental health professionals recognize the therapeutic value of appropriate humor in recovery? I think about this a lot with Ari—how her therapist before the collapse would probably have tried to “fix” her sarcasm, to make her more “authentic” in her emotional expression.

But what if the sarcasm IS the authentic expression? What if it's not just deflection but translation—taking feelings too big or dangerous to handle raw and making them manageable through wit?

That's what I'm exploring through Ari's journals—how sarcasm can be both shield and bridge. Sometimes she needs the shield: “Oh look, another catastrophic disaster.” But other times, the sarcasm cracks just enough to let the truth shine through: “Missing you is fucking stupid, Finn. You're not even here to appreciate my excellent jokes about the end of the world.”

What I've come to understand through writing Ari is that sarcasm isn't just about individual survival—it's about preserving our collective ability to find light in darkness. When she makes a joke in her journal, knowing she might be the last person alive to appreciate it, she's doing more than coping. She's maintaining a tradition as old as human suffering: the ability to laugh at the void. And maybe that's one of the most important things we need to preserve after all.

Next time…

It’ll be a surprise! Yet again, I have competing topics in mind and neither has slid into the top spot yet, so stay tuned.

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